


all I see is you and me

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2419085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre is sick and Courfeyrac takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all I see is you and me

**Author's Note:**

> For [Jay](http://bahoreal.tumblr.com/), who is feeling a little ill ♥

Combeferre feels like death, and there's someone at the door. 

Somehow, he can hear them over his pounding headache and the dry sniffs that make his nose burn every time. He doesn't want to get up, doesn't even think he can, and it's not until he's out of his room and halfway across the lounge room, his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, that he's even registered the fact that the person at the door wasn't _knocking_ , but simply letting themself in.

"What the hell are you doing up?" Courfeyrac scolds, shutting the door behind him and crossing the room quickly. He places his hands on Combeferre's shoulders, gently turning him around, supporting him and guiding him back to bed. "You should be in bed."

"You were at the door," Combeferre explains, but Courfeyrac simply shakes his head. 

Walking back to his bedroom isn't usually a daunting task, but most of the time, it doesn't feel like the world is tilting with every footstep. Courfeyrac's hands are warm on his shoulder and on his back, the _good_ kind of warm, as opposed ot the way his skin feels like it's a few degrees away from spontaneously catching fire. 

Courfeyrac is muttering something about soup, and it doesn't occur to Combeferre to ask about it until he's tucked back in bed.

"What?" he asks belatedly, to an empty room. 

He's going to be ashamed of just how slow and clumsy he's being once he gets better. Then again, at least he'll be better.

Courfeyrac returns a few minutes later. Combeferre is trying to doze, but it's difficult when he ends up coughing every time he tries relaxing and he just can't stop sniffing. For a moment, Courfeyrac just stands at the door and gives him a sympathetic look. Then he walks in, and Combeferre realises he's carrying a bowl of soup.

"I thought you might need this, so I brought some over," Courfeyrac tells him, sitting on the edge of Combeferre's bed. He strokes his fingers through Combeferre's short black hair, lightly scratching against the shaved part. Combeferre hums, leaning into the touch. Courfeyrac laughs fondly. "You're so out of it, aren't you?"

"M'not," Combeferre protests. He catches Courfeyrac's hand, with some difficulty, and looks at it for a moment before sighing. "I'd kiss you but I don't want to make you sick." 

"I appreciate the thought," Courfeyrac replies, leaning over to kiss Combeferre's forehead. "Can you handle the spoon on your own, or do I need to feed you?"

Combeferre takes the spoon, because he's not _that_ sick. Courfeyrac watches him carefully, ready to intervene at any time if he needs to, still sitting where he is at the edge of Combeferre's bed.

When he's halfway through the soup, Combeferre pauses. "You have class today."

"I had a tutorial in the morning," Courfeyrac corrects, nudging Combeferre's bowl to make him continue eating. "The rest are just lectures. I can catch up on them later."

"But…"

"Combeferre." Courfeyrac smiles at him and Combeferre doesn't think he's imagining the slight tinge of red to Courfeyrac's cheeks. "I just wanted to come over and take care of my poor, sick boyfriend."

It makes Combeferre smile. Courfeyrac says _boyfriend_ like it's new and exciting, even though it's been a month now. Courfeyrac, who has dated people in the past, who has had boyfriends and girlfriends and companions, has never been this excited about any of it before. It makes Combeferre's chest swell with fondness, and something a hell of a lot stronger that he isn't game enough to name just now, even if he's been feeling it for years.

"Your poor, sick boyfriend appreciates it," Combeferre murmurs, finishing his soup. "…That feels better."

"I'm willing to bet you haven't eaten much." Courfeyrac's tone says just how much he approves of that. "Not that anyone can blame you, considering you could barely get up. I have more soup if you'd like?"

Combeferre nods, then immediately regrets it. He massages his temple to keep the headache at bay. "Please."

Returning with another bowlful, Courfeyrac takes the same seat as before, close enough that Combeferre can feel their legs pressed against each other through the blankets. It's a comforting contact, and Combeferre doubts that it's accidental. Courfeyrac is a tactile person and tends to comfort people by touching them. He's certain that they would be snuggling, if not for the risk of Combeferre making Courferyac sick.

Courfeyrac talks about his day while Combeferre slowly makes his way through the second bowl of soup. By the time it's done, Combeferre's eyelids are heavy and he doesn't resist as Courfeyrac slowly pulls the bowl out of his hand and takes it to the kitchen.

He's leaning back against the pillow behind him, eyes shut, when Courfeyrac returns to the bedroom. He's not quite asleep yet, paying attention when he hears Courfeyrac's footsteps. He opens his eyes when he feels the bed dip under Courfeyrac's weight, but in the space beside him this time. 

With a smile, Courfeyrac settles himself under the covers on Combeferre's left. Their sides are pressed against each other and Courfeyrac rests his head on Combeferre's shoulder.

"Nap time?"

"You're going to get sick," Combeferre says warily. 

"Don't you worry about that, Joly stuffed me full of vitamins as soon as I made noises about coming to visit you." Courfeyrac grins. "I'm pretty sure he would have resorted to throwing tablets at me if he thought that would help. Hell, he looked pretty close to doing so regardless. I have a few more vitamins waiting for me once I get home later too, courtesy of our dear friend, the walking dispensary."

Combeferre laughs, which then turns into a cough. He bends over, covering his mouth, and Courfeyrac makes a distressed sound, sitting up and rubbing soothing circles on his back. 

"I'm okay." Combeferre's voice is hoarse, but he smiles and Courfeyrac immediately returns it. "I mean it. I might be sick but I'm _more_ than okay. I've got my wonderful boyfriend here with me to keep me company. If I didn't love you already, I'd be head over heels by now."

Courfeyrac's eyes go wide and Combeferre swears under his breath.

"That's not the medicine talking. I'll say it again when I'm not disgustingly sick. This time doesn't count."

Laughing softly, Courfeyrac presses a light kiss to Combeferre's cheek. "I'm willing to let it count. A sickbed confession of love from my gorgeous boyfriend?"

"You've been getting into Bahorel's collection of romance novels, haven't you?"

Feigning innocence, Courfeyrac blinks. "What collection of romance novels? I don't know about any collection of romance novels. Especially not where Bahorel can hear."

With a quiet snort, Combeferre pulls Courfeyrac close into a brief hug before letting him go. "You're ridiculous. I love you."

"Does that one count?" Courfeyrac asks.

"Damn it. No." Combeferre watches Courfeyrac carefully. "Unless you want it to?"

"If I did?"

Combeferre's head hurts too much to pull this situation apart, but he knows Courfeyrac well and he almost always knows the right thing to say.

"I love you."

Courfeyrac smiles, sitting up so he can press a kiss to Combeferre's forehead. "I love you too. I'll repeat that when you're not sick, too. Which is going to happen after you nap, so we're going to do that now."

Shutting his eyes, Combeferre lets out a content hum. "I look forward to it."

Courfeyrac burrows against his side, taking one of Combeferre's hands into his own. Sleep comes much easier this time around.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Come Home by OneRepublic.


End file.
